


Tipping Point

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Leverage [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Mild Smut, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ironhide thinks about the funny nature of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tipping Point

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble based on what's probably my second favorite pairing. Warnings/tags are to be on the safe side.

Long millennia ago, Ironhide had watched the regulars of the army try to pair Prowl and Jazz off. He admitted, they would made a very pretty picture. Inversely colored reflections, almost, that could easily fuel the most naughty of private imaginings. Even he had, at first, silently wished they would.

He had liked the mental image himself. His personal favorite self-service of the time: Prowl rocking over Jazz's body, wide wings flaring behind him. Head thrown back in ecstasy while Jazz worked in him, pulling Prowl's aft down hard and fast for his own pleasure.

Yes, Ironhide had been every bit as guilty as the rest.

Unlike most of the regulars, he saw them behind closed doors. Meetings, officers' lounges. He had seen the subtle byplay of barely concealed distaste. Both hard sparked mechs, Jazz hid it better. Always the life of the party, right beside Ratchet.

Ironhide never had been certain how _that_ mech tolerated Jazz in his bed. He suspected a kink for danger, but he would never be crass enough to ask.

Jazz had never once looked at Prowl with anything warmer than a mocking smirk. Jazz worked on instinct as much as skill, intuitively working the mechs around him to his advantage. And he did it so, so well that most never seemed to notice how completely he played them.

Mostly, since he clearly didn't like tipping his hand, Jazz never did anything outright. And sometimes, Ironhide even thought Jazz _did_ like them. Other times, Ironhide would catch a _look_ from the special operative directed right at him.

Ironhide knew the warnings were deliberate.

Prowl watched and waited, collating data from the center of the invisible web he set Jazz and his subordinates climbing over and through and around. He played with the lives of their army like game pieces across a vast board; weapons of varying, often disappointing, strength to wield against a terrible enemy.

Ironhide had no idea why he'd propositioned the Praxian in the first place. Perhaps where Ratchet had a (possibly imagined) danger kink, Ironhide had a (much more definite) control kink. Certainly he knew Prowl used them every bit as much as Jazz. He just didn't _lie_ about it.

It really was something to watch the mech fly apart in overload, though. He looked _good_ spread open for a spike sliding hard and deep into his body. Wings flared and head back. Ironhide had swappd Prowl's partners for his private shooting contests, but he still had them. And the personal experience now for rich detail.

He liked the red against the monochrome. Even with Jazz watching his every move, lest Ironhide upset the delicate balance that kept Prowl's mind functioning. 

No, Jazz didn't want Prowl's body. He wanted Prowl's _mind_. It had been a difficult thing to comprehend after watching Jazz subtly poke and prod at Prowl. Jazz, after all, had been the source of many of the rumors about Prowl.

 _Jazz_ kept Prowl isolated, kept him distant from their fellows. Jazz kept Prowl on his task and not distracted by the consequences of his mandates. Game pieces.

That was how Ironhide had tipped the lever on its fulcrum.

He hadn't meant to. Not really. No one else had taken up with Prowl, through the long stretch of combat, and Ironhide had seen little fleeting moments of yearning. A real mech struggled under the figures and numbers. A mech that, Ironhide had come to realize, knew what it was he did.

No. Prowl and Jazz would never have been lovers. And Jazz would never forgive Ironhide for reminding Prowl that he lived, too. It left the lever teetering, and if anything ever happened to Ironhide, Jazz had no guarantee which way it would fall.

Ironhide knew. But he'd never tell Jazz. Better to keep that mech guessing.


End file.
